How To Kill Mr Nice Guy
by Crescentium
Summary: Schuldig likes to make a mess when he's playing. Crawford prefers to keep it clean.


**Author's Notes:** This is set in my _The Psychic Entanglement_ series universe, but it is a standalone / one-shot.

**Timing:** "First Missions" era: Crawford and Schuldig are working together as partners. After _Trouble For Two, _prior to _Hands/Minds._  
**Warning:** Emotionally/psychologically disturbing content. (In other words, C/S being their unpleasant Schwarz-y selves.)

* * *

Abraham Russell was a very clean person. He liked to keep his underwear sorted by type and his socks sorted by colour. His suits were always bagged and he never kept too many, so that he could fit them all comfortably and not need to buy a bigger wardrobe. That was important for him, not needing to change things.

Abraham Russell abhorred change. He became easily upset for hours if something disrupted his daily routine. His life was regulated by habit and governed by the comforting lack of choice. He went about his business in a predictable manner, and he preferred it that way.

The world had not been kind to him the last time he had broken the pattern.

On his way from work ― a tedious but clean job, perfect for him ― he took a wrong turn. It was an honest mistake, one right instead of a left. Unusual for him, but he told himself that he was just distracted and tired after a long day at the office shuffling papers. He tried to figure out which way to turn next to get back to his original track.

For some reason, he ended up mistaking one road for another a couple of more times, and soon he was driving down a strange street. He had never been here before. This was obviously some kind of an entertainment district. You had shops and bars ― and you had clubs. Abraham squeezed the wheel in his hands. He wasn't comfortable here. There were people who might go out of control. There were laughing people who didn't give a second thought to tomorrow.

Mostly there were men, he realised as he looked around. Some of them were dressed in bright colours and swished their hips, and all the women he saw were dressed in similar bright clothes. Abraham thought that was strange, until he saw one of the brightly coloured men draping his arms around another's shoulders and give him a kiss. Sweat broke out in Abraham's neck as he realised where he was.

How had he ended up here?! He got so upset that he had to pull over only just to work out a game plan and to avoid accidentally running into someone else's car. He took extra care parking his car. That would be just perfect, bumping someone's bender here of all places! To stand here under that neon sign and explain to the officers that he had been distracted ― how it would look? They would give a knowing, disgusted smirk and imply that they had a pretty good idea of what it was that had distracted him.

Oh he trembled with terror just thinking it.

Several smiling happy people took a look at his car and some even peeked in through the car window on their way past before disappearing into the club. Abraham was sweating and refusing to look at any of them. What if he made eye contact?! They might think he wanted something from them! They might come and talk to him!

Of course, right now he could have used someone to talk to in order to ask for directions out of here. He hadn't even known that a district like this existed in the city. How was he going to find his way out?

Oh, wait! He had a map here somewhere! Where was it? He rushed to explore his glove compartment. With shaking hands, he went through the entire compartment but there was no map. But he had a map! He did! Furiously he groped at the papers and the sunglasses and he was making a terrible mess on the seat and the floor of his car but he didn't even care, he needed to find the map!

But no matter how thoroughly he searched, he couldn't find the map. His hands fell to his lap and he stared in horrified shock at the open wide glove compartment. This wasn't possible, this wasn't happening!

Then there was a rap at the car window. He jumped and cold sweat broke out in his neck. He was too terrified to turn to look at who it was. What if it was one of _them_? What if it was one of these... these... _these people_?!

The rapping repeated. Obviously whoever it was, he wasn't going away. Abraham peeked at the window from the corner of his eye. He caught a slice of a faded floral vest and pale hand with a ring on it. He turned. There was someone standing in a relaxed position next to his car, his jacket open, with one hand in the pocket of his torn-up jeans that didn't go along with his vest at all. And no shirt! No shirt at all! Abraham swallowed. Perhaps he would dare to at least find out what this person wanted. Carefully, he rolled down the window just enough to permit the exchange of words but not enough for the man to push his hand through.

He cleared his throat. "Yes?"

"You all right there?" The voice was low and calm, rough and soft at the same time like the purr of a big cat. Not at all what he had expected from those clothes.

Abraham touched his collar. "Yes, yes." He moistened his lips. "I am fine."

The figure outside moved, and suddenly, Abraham was looking in a pair of yellow sunglasses surrounded by a shock of green hair and framed by black-paint eyebrows. Together with the outlandish clothing choices, Abraham could have sworn he was talking with some type of a goblin.

A lopsided smirk twisted the goblin's lips. "Alright. Just looked like you might've been looking for your medicines or something." The green hair bobbed towards the mess on the empty seat next to Abraham.

Abraham was blushing profusely. "Oh. No. No, no, I assure you, it's nothing like that. I just seem to have misplaced my map."

"You lost then?"

Abraham hesitated. This... thing seemed to be friendly. Perhaps he would dare to ask for instructions. Perhaps he would even dare to follow them.

"Yes." Abraham glanced down the street. "I'm afraid I took a wrong turn. I've never been here before."

A quiet laugh rolled out. "Yeah, I can tell. Tell you what. I know this city, I can probably help you out. But you know, I'm a little hungry." The ringed hand knocked on the car window. "So take me some place, buy me a sandwich or something, and..." A wicked little laugh rippled out. "I'll be your map."

Abraham had absolutely no intention to agree to this. To let this savage into his fine car, drive him around and buy him something to eat, then tell him where he lived, it was insane!

But then the stranger tilted his head down and looked at him from over the rim of his sunglasses with a pair of striking blue eyes, and the word "no" died on his tongue. This one had come to him to check if he was all right, thinking he had lost his medicine, that meant he had only wanted to help, right? And he didn't look so scary, with that floral design and hippie getup. And how was Abraham going to find his way out of here on his own? He might have to leave his car in order to ask for help if he didn't accept this offer, and that would be worse.

"All right. Just give me a minute." Abraham leaned over to the other seat and fumbled to collect all the items into his hands and put them back into the glove compartment.

The goblin walked around the car to the other side and stood waiting until Abraham was satisfied that the car was clean again. He leaned over to flick open the lock on the car door. Click, whoosh, click ― and his car was full of a green-haired pretty boy with a catchy smirk and a lean body, of which Abraham was seeing rather too much, really! His cheeks flushed, Abraham turned away and started up the engine again.

"You know, it would save us a lot of trouble if you just made me a sandwich at your place," suggested the green-haired young man. It occurred to Abraham that he really couldn't decide on an age. The goblin looked young enough to be too young, yet he couldn't tell for sure.

Cold sweat prickled down his spine thinking that the boy might have been no more than sixteen. Getting caught taking a kid out to lunch, even if it was just a sandwich... oh, no!

But would it be any easier if he took the boy home? Wouldn't that look worse? He agonised over the question, his forehead glistening with sweat drops.

"Relax, it's not like I asked you to marry me," whispered a calm voice that couldn't possibly belong to a sixteen-year-old! Abraham glanced at his passenger from the corner of his eye, very quickly because he needed his attention on the wheel as he pulled back into the street and started to drive. The blue eyes were watching him, the young man had stuck his sunglasses onto the top of his head, unleashing the full power of his beautiful, slender facial features on Abraham.

"What's your name?" Abraham wanted to know, but the young man shook his head.

"I'm old enough," he said. "That's all you really want to know, right?" With a laugh, the young man gave a shrug with one shoulder. "But you can call me Bane."

"That's not your real name," Abraham insisted, like it was important, but the young man's laugh rolled out like he had just cracked a joke.

"You can still call me that," he said with a languid smile and dropped his sunglasses back onto his nose with a flick of one lazy hand.

Abraham closed his mouth. He simply didn't know what to say. He kept his eyes on the road and started to worry because he didn't know which way to turn once the street would end.

"Depends where you're going," murmured 'Bane'. "I guess you live in the suburbs somewhere. If it's east side, you're way out of your way."

"How do you know where I live?" Abraham was horrified.

"Your clothes. Your car. The fact that you're obviously from the city, but you don't have a clue about navigating the west side. You're on your way home from work, right? One of those big buildings downtown, yeah? But you don't live here because you don't like the noise." The young man was looking out the window, speaking slowly like he tasted every word. "Guys like you can't stand the noise."

"Guys like..."

"Nice guys."

Bane's voice sounded different. Abraham glanced at him from the corner of his eye again. Bane looked more serious, like someone had dropped a mask on his face. From this angle, Abraham thought he could catch a glimpse of Bane's eyes, and there was something different about them, about the way he stared out ― and then Abraham had to focus on the road again. His hands started to tremble on the wheel. He needed to stop looking at this boy.

"No," Abraham decided. "Just help me find some place to buy a map. Then I'll drive you to wherever you live."

At this, Bane turned a slow, curious eye on him. "Why would you do that?"

"Maybe somebody's worried about you already."

The unblinking blue stared at him for a long, long moment. "No," he then said, shaking his head. "Nobody's worried."

Something in Abraham's chest sank. The boy had nobody! Well, that explained why he was out here all alone. He fought against the instinct to ask more questions. Bane's life was none of his business.

But... he might as well make Bane's company his business for a little while.

"All right. Let's go to my place."

* * *

"Here is the living room. Make yourself comfortable." Abraham motioned for the sofa while heading towards the kitchen. "I'll be right back with your sandwich."

Bane didn't respond. Abraham went out of the living room, into the kitchen, and shuffled around picking out plates and glasses and everything else they'd need. He was too busy hovering between the refrigerator, the cupboard and the counter to notice that someone approached him before someone grabbed his shirt. He jerked violently and had several thoughts of possible horrible ways in which his life might end. He had a knife in one hand and the bread in the other. He could always defend himself with that knife but he wasn't sure if he was able. The mere idea of sticking a blade into another human being made him sick.

"I'm not going to kill you, silly," whispered Bane's voice from near his shoulder, and a warm body pressed up against him.

Abraham's hands were shaking violently. "What are you doing?" His lips were dry, his heart beat was like a drum in his ears.

Bane didn't answer, not verbally, anyway. He demonstrated, however, with one hand down Abraham's body and his lips on Abraham's neck.

"What are you doing?" Abraham demanded again, while he busily tried to figure out if there were any windows facing this way or in an angle where someone might see them. He felt light-headed and took a sharp breath when Bane's hand travelled over the hip and found his trousers.

"Isn't this why you brought me here?" Bane whispered into his ear. His hand cupped Abraham's bulge.

"Why I..." Abraham thought he might die! Had he brought home a hooker?! "No," he cried hoarsely. "No, no, you have this all wrong, I don't want to buy anything!"

Bane's hands froze. His mouth stopped moving down Abraham's neck and for a moment the man felt relieved because he had set the record straight and the boy had understood and...

"You think I'm selling something?" The voice was more quiet, hurt even. Abraham felt a small nose print on his neck, then something that might have been a cheek, and then eyelashes fluttering, and it occurred to him that the boy might start to cry.

Oh, no! He had misinterpreted this? But... Abraham was too lost and confused to be able to say anything. If Bane wasn't selling anything, why was he doing this? Why would he do something like this if he wasn't going to ask money for it?

"I, well, I..." He stumbled all over every word. "I thought... just, because... you know... I, because... nobody... I don't... why do you think I..."

"So it's my mistake?" Bane interrupted him. "You don't want me?" His hand on Abraham's bulge moved up and down. "If that's true, why don't you tell me to stop?"

Abraham's ears were burning, his face was flushed, he was choking, his hands were trembling. He needed to push Bane away. But while he gathered courage, the young man slipped from under his arm and slithered in front of him. He tugged Abraham by the shirt, pinning himself in between Abraham and the counter. How sinewy he was, and ah, how hard! Abraham's eyes widened when he realised that it wasn't just Bane's chest and stomach muscles that were so.

It was years since anyone had been aroused in his presence.

"If you're so straight, why aren't you pushing me away?" Bane stared at him in the eyes, and the bright blue swallowed Abraham's entire world. "If you're straight, why aren't you waving that thing," he nodded to point at the knife in Abraham's hand, "and telling me to back off? That's what most straight guys do." His lips pulled to a smirk as his hand went down lower, lower. "A straight guy would be disgusted at what I'm doing."

To his horror and shame, he felt himself becoming hard in response to Bane's erection rubbing up against him.

"Please..." Abraham's voice was trembling.

"You really expect me to believe that you were driving home from work one day and by accident ended up parked outside a gay club?" A dark chuckle rippled deep from Bane's throat. "That's the worst excuse I've ever heard."

Abraham swallowed several times. But his body was weak, it was succumbing, and it had been so long, so long. Tears in his eyes, Abraham dropped the knife and the bread and seized Bane's vest. His knuckles turned white, he didn't dare to do anything, he just couldn't believe this was happening, it was like a dream. Whether it was a nightmare or a fantasy, he couldn't make up his mind.

"Why me?" he whispered hoarsely. "Why would you want to... with... with me?"

Bane held his eyes. "Most guys go there because they want to come inside somebody, or they want somebody to come inside them. But you..." He leaned closer, his lips were suddenly so close, too close. Something in Bane's eyes changed, his smile changed. "You just want company for the night," he whispered.

It was so true. So true it hurt. Abraham took a sharp breath, but instead of air he pulled in Bane's body and Bane's mouth. He broke the kiss only just long enough to hastily whisper that they needed to do this in the bedroom, and the curtains needed to be closed, and no one could know, and he was sorry.

Bane said nothing at all. He just kissed him harder.

* * *

Abraham watched the young green-haired man moving, it was like watching a predator. Maybe he was one, hunting for one night's entertainment. He would laugh at how easy it was, later. How else would a man like Abraham Russell attract a creature like this, if not by being so pathetic that he was good for a few laughs?

Bane stopped in front of the dresser and examined the photographs on top.

"Your kids."

Abraham tried to swallow the lump in his throat. "Yes. They are..."

"With your ex-wife. What, she tossed you out because she saw you wanking off with the wrong kind of men's magazine?"

Abraham shuddered. He was becoming numb to the way Bane seemed to know these things he shouldn't have known. What was it this time, had he taken note of the woman in one of the photographs and noticed that it was the only picture of her, yet she was friendly with the children?

Well, at least he would not find a photograph of a young smiling man in a yellow shirt. He wouldn't guess what had really happened.

"Oh, no, wait, it was better, wasn't it?" Bane pivoted on his heels, the bright blue struck a lightning bolt right through Abraham's brain. Bane's lips pulled to a vicious grin, he started to chuckle softly. "The milk-man and the housewife in the modern style, eh?"

Abraham's eyes widened. He kept trying to swallow the lump but it only choked him more. Objections burned his tongue, yet he was paralysed, horrified at the accuracy with which Bane's mind was moving right for the mark. The blue eyes were intent, keen, piercing Abraham's very soul as Bane started to walk closer with slow, measured steps.

A predator, yes, only now a more horrifying one, a terrible beast that hunted for his pain instead of his pleasure.

"Only it wasn't the milk-man and you were no housewife," the beast whispered. "All that time she thought you were in the lab working on your experiments, you were really working on your technician."

Abraham's eyes widened in shock, and finally he managed to croak, "How did you..."

"Ssh," hushed Bane. "I saw the papers. Took me a while to connect the faces and the names, but it was you, right? You're the scientist. The wrote articles about you. Professor Abraham Russell, then you just disappeared. I guess I now know why."

Abraham's tongue was numb, he barely got the words out. "It was another life." He wanted to add, _I can't believe you'd read those kind of papers_, but Bane's eyes held him and Bane's words took him some place else. Some place he didn't want to go, never wanted to go again.

"You worked from home, that made it convenient, didn't it? He was there every day. You had drinks in the kitchen, worked down in the basement. Maybe he stayed for dinner, yeah? It was bound to happen eventually. You might have told her as much, but you were too scared. So you just let it happen." Bane crawled on his knees on the bed, closer and closer. "She came home early one day, didn't she? Caught you with your hand stuffed down the technician's crotch?"

Abraham didn't know how Bane could guess all this, how he could know, but the memories were swelling in his mind, swelling in his chest, blocking his breathing. Bane's eyes searched Abraham's face.

"She took the kids, but what happened to the technician? What happened, Abraham? Why isn't he here?"

Abraham drew a trembling breath, his entire body shuddering. He didn't want to remember, he didn't, he didn't, but the memories were rushing in, he couldn't stop them.

"He'd been using you all along, hadn't he?" Bane's expression softened. "That's right. One morning you woke to find both your work and your technician gone."

Abraham's eyes were wide, glistening with tears. Bane's eerie eyes watched him from above like two brilliant blue lights.

"He screwed you over... yet..." Bane's slender hand touched Abraham's cheek. "You're a nice guy, so you weren't angry."

Abraham blinked. Tears spilled onto his cheeks. Bane's eyes moved to follow the trail, then he swept his fingers over Abraham's cheek to wipe the moisture away.

"Oh, it's better than that. Huh? You're such a nice guy that you blamed yourself," Bane whispered. "You figured that you deserved it for being such a shit husband to your wife and screwing up your kids' lives. You haven't seen them in years. You don't even know what they look like these days."

More tears streamed down Abraham's cheeks. He drew in a sobbing breath.

There was an odd distance in Bane's eyes, he spoke with a hollow voice. "You didn't care anymore. That's why you're not Professor Russell anymore, why you're just another white collar nobody locked up in an office..." Suddenly, Bane's eyes came alive, anger built in his voice that lowered to a hiss. "...trying to forget what it was like to feel alive just fucking once in your life!"

Another sob, and another, and another, and soon Abraham was curled up on the bed, tears streaming down and his body shaking, crumbling like his heart all over again as he remembered all the pain and the guilt, the terrible, terrible guilt that still clawed at his chest, tore him apart. It was all true. All true.

A voice drifted in his ears.

"But you can't forget, can you?"

He felt warm breaths on his skin, lips brushing lightly over his cheek, making him remember the warmth he had held in his hands but a few minutes ago and another that was nothing but a ghost ache in a severed limb, something he could never get back but that still haunted him. Even after all these years, it still haunted him, this vile, terrible need, this horrible twisted beast inside him.

He had lost everything to that beast. Everything.

Quietly, the warm breaths and the lips pulled away, the warmth disappeared, but he barely even noticed. He was lost in a nightmare where he relived the horror of losing his family and his life's work all over again, and again, and again.

After watching the sobbing mess on the bed for a little while, the green-haired young man turned and slipped away. He flitted to the front door, noiseless as a ghost. He grabbed a random overcoat from the neatly arranged coat rack, and then exited the flat. He didn't bother with the lift. He descended the stairs with light, easy steps, pulling the coat on him as he went.

With his hands in his pockets and a kind of skip in his step, he crossed the street, directly to a discreet dark blue car. He circled around to the door with its window rolled halfway down. The door clicked open just as he was close enough to reach out for the handle. He slid inside and pulled the door closed with an easy motion.

The bespectacled man occupying the driver's seat offered him a lit cigarette without even looking in his direction.

"He doesn't know where Bennett is." He swept the offered cigarette in between two fingers, took a deep drag, then blew the smoke out of his lungs with a long exhale, his eyes lost somewhere in the distance. "They saw each other last when Russell's wife dumped him. Bennett split with the research, Russell was too depressed to even care."

"So the trail has gone cold. We have to figure out something else." The glasses caught the light from the street lamps, transforming them into a pair of big white glowing discs. "Why did you leave him alive?"

"It amused me."

A pair of dark eyebrows crumpled to a frown. "Schuldig." He said it like a reprimand.

The unblinking blue kept staring at the street lights. A shudder passed through the lithe body. Schuldig tucked his collar higher. "Jesus, Crawford, it's cold. Would it kill you to turn up the heat?"

"You're not dressed for the season." Crawford's gloved fingers were tapping the steering wheel, he refused to change the subject. "He'll remember you."

Schuldig's lips pulled to a slow, faint smirk. "You think I'm so hard to forget?"

Crawford turned to peer at the building like he considered going in there and finishing the job. Schuldig's smirk died away. His fingers wandered down the front of his stolen coat.

"All he'll remember is a green-haired jerk who stole his coat." His eyes were lost in the interplay of darkness and light. "He'll try to forget everything else."

"It's still a loose end."

"Fine. You want me to take care of it?" Schuldig shot a look up the building across the street. "It's the fifth floor. The red would set off the grey pavement well, don't you think? I can do it from here, we can watch. Would you like that?"

Crawford snapped his head around to look at Schuldig. The black strands framed the glowing white spheres. The line of his mouth was short and tense. His chiselled face was like a mask carved from steel, no emotion, nothing but silence.

Schuldig shook his head. "No, you wouldn't like it any better." The blue fell from the fifth floor window and swept over to challenge the white spheres. "You don't like me playing with this one. Why is that, Crawford?"

Crawford's jaws moved. "You're dragging it out."

"I'm giving him a choice. Isn't that merciful?" One black eyebrow curved up. "He can choose to start living, or he can choose to keep dying until it'll kill him."

Crawford turned away. Shadows swallowed his face. He did not speak, did not move. His gloved hands rested very still on the wheel.

"Maybe you don't like it because it's so messy. You prefer a bullet, a clean shot in the head, not a spot of blood on your suit." Schuldig tilted his head. "Sticks to your hands just the same, you know."

Crawford's hand slipped away from the wheel to turn the key. The engine purred into life. Schuldig stuck the cigarette in between his lips and took a long drag. Smoke erupted from one corner of his mouth. He watched the cloud floating up, up, then out the window, swallowed by the hungry night outside.

* * *

They were lying in Crawford's bed, Schuldig sprawled on top of Crawford's bigger body, one arm hugging his waist, his head resting on the precognitive's chest, his toes idly playing with the sheets that didn't cover a single slice of his body. The blue eyes were fixed on the window.

Crawford was staring at the ceiling, his arm loosely draped over Schuldig's shoulders, the other stuck under the pillow, under his head. His glasses were sitting on the bedside table along with a glass of water and a notebook, as usual.

"Maybe you want to kill him because you think he got to fuck me," Schuldig mused.

Crawford didn't even blink. His voice was neutral, quiet. "I know what he did with you."

"And you rather he didn't do it again?"

Crawford's gaze fell from the ceiling. He quirked an eyebrow in Schuldig's general direction. "You left him alive because you're trying to make me jealous?"

Schuldig laughed. "I don't need to pull shit like that to keep myself entertained."

It was the truth and Crawford could not argue. His eyes wandered from the green hair to the round shoulder and then lower, to Schuldig's waist. He moved his hand, caressed down Schuldig's hip, then up again. His hand travelled over the curves of Schuldig's body, then he ran his fingers through the green mess, letting the strands fall from between his fingers and coil on his chest.

"This looks stupid on you," he murmured.

"I'm sorry you feel that way. It's your fault, you know."

A slight frown creased Crawford's forehead. "My fault that you dyed your hair to look like a gypsy but ended up looking like a clown?"

"Like you didn't foresee it going wrong," Schuldig scoffed. "You didn't stop me. Now you'll just have to wait until it grows out." He chuckled. "Don't you like that, anyway? Waiting?"

Crawford's hand returned to rest on Schuldig's waist, but his eyes lingered in the green coils. "You could dye it."

"The only red colour I'll wear is my own."

Crawford's lips pulled to a tiny smile. He imagined Schuldig's red colour. It was like rust, or like blood that had dried on a yellow shirt. He blinked, and then he saw a yellow something, with stains other than blood. His smile fell away. He saw tear drops splashing on a bundle of yellow cloth squeezed tight into a trembling fist. He saw a man sitting at the edge of a bed, his wrinkled shirt wet with sweat. Crawford saw the pills and the glass of water. He saw the drool dripping down, he saw the shaking, twitching body and he saw the lips pulling to a grimace and the eyes rolling back in their sockets.

"What is it?" murmured Schuldig's voice from a distance somewhere.

"I see a choice."

A slight frown creased Schuldig's forehead. The silence dragged on for a long while. Then, "When you sent me to him, did you think for one second that he had any information?"

"It was possible."

"But not likely."

Crawford didn't answer. Schuldig raised his head. He looked at Crawford's distracted face for a few minutes in silence, then he shook his head.

"You're not a very nice guy, Crawford."

Crawford kept staring into the distance, watching the choice of one Abraham Russell, in the future somewhere. It was the same choice he had seen since the first moment the man's face had stared up at him from the mission files.

"Being nice doesn't pay off," Crawford murmured. "Does it?"

Schuldig rested his head back on his partner's chest. His eyes found the window again. He said nothing.

Crawford kept watching.


End file.
